“What were the answers?”
There was a flash of humor in her eyes. “That he was asking things that it was not yet his time to know. That is what I would have answered him had I been the spirit!”
“You disliked him?” he asked. She was sharp in her observation, critical, opinionated, and yet there was a vitality in her that was extraordinarily attractive and her humor appealed to him.
“Frankly, yes.” She looked down at the rich silk of her skirt. “He was a frightened man. But we are all frightened of something, if you have any imagination at all, or anything you care about.” She raised her eyes and met his. “That does not give you a reason or an excuse to mock the needs of others.” A shadow crossed her eyes, as if instantly she had regretted being too candid with him. She stood up and in a graceful movement turned away, keeping her back half towards Pitt and completely towards Tellman. It obliged them both to stand also.
“Unfortunately, I cannot tell you who he was or where to find him,” she said quietly. “I regret very much now that I ever went there. It seemed harmless at the time, an exploration of knowledge, a little daring. I believe passionately in freedom of the mind, Mr. Pitt. I despise censorship, the curtailment of learning . . . for anyone at all!” Her voice had a completely different tone; there was no banter in it now, no guard. “I would have absolute freedom of religion built into the law, if I could. We have to behave in a civilized fashion, respect each other’s safety—and property, too, I suppose. But no one should set bounds to the mind, above all to the spirit!” She swiveled around, staring at Pitt with color back in her face at last, her chin high and her marvelous eyes blazing.
“And was this third man trying to do that, Mrs. Serracold?” Pitt asked.
“Don’t be naive!” she said tartly. “We spend half the energy in our lives trying to dictate what other people will think! That is mostly what the church is about. Don’t you listen?”
Pitt smiled. “Are you trying to destroy my belief in it, Mrs. Serracold?” he enquired innocently.
The color glowed up her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It is just that one person’s freedom so easily tramples upon another’s. Why did you go to Miss Lamont? Whom did you wish to contact?”
“Why is it your business, Mr. Pitt?” She gestured for him to sit down again.
“Because she was murdered either while you were there or shortly after you left,” he answered, relaxing back into the chair and seeing Tellman do the same.
Her body stiffened. “I have no idea who was responsible for that,” she said almost under her breath. “Except that it was not I.”
“I have been told that you wanted to contact your mother. Is that not true?”
“Who told you?” she demanded. “The soldier?”
“Why should he not? You told me he wished to contact his son, to learn how he died.”
“Yes,” she conceded.
“What was it you wished to learn from your mother?”
“Nothing!” she said instantly. “I simply wanted to speak with her. Surely that is natural enough?”
Tellman did not believe her, and he knew by the way Pitt’s hands stayed motionless and stiff on his knees that he did not, either. But he did not challenge her.
“Yes, of course it is,” Pitt agreed. “Have you visited other spirit mediums?”
She waited so long that her hesitation was obvious, and she gave a slight gesture of capitulation. “No. I admit that, Mr. Pitt. I didn’t trust anyone until I met Miss Lamont.”
“How did you meet her, Mrs. Serracold?”
“She was recommended to me,” she said, as if surprised that he should ask.
His interest quickened. He hoped it did not show in his face. “By whom?”
“Do you imagine it matters?” she parried.
“Will you tell me, Mrs. Serracold, or do I have to enquire?”
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“That would be embarrassing! And unnecessary.” She was angry. There were two spots of color high on her smooth cheekbones. “As far as I can recall, it was Eleanor Mountford. I don’t remember how she heard of her. She was really very famous, you know—Miss Lamont, I mean.”
“She had a lot of clients from society?” Pitt’s voice was expressionless.
“Surely you know that.” She raised her brows slightly.
“I know what her appointment book says,” he agreed. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Serracold.” He rose to his feet again.
“Mr. Pitt . . . Mr. Pitt, my husband is standing for Parliament. I . . .”
“I know that,” he said softly. “And I am aware of what capital the Tory press may make of your visits to Miss Lamont, if they become known.”
She blushed, but her face was defiant and she made no immediate answer.
“Was Mr. Serracold aware you were seeing Miss Lamont?” he asked.
Her look wavered. “No.” It was little more than a murmur. “I went in the evenings he spent at his club. They were regular. It was quite easy.”
“You took a very great risk,” he pointed out. “Did you go alone?”
“Of course! It is a . . . personal thing.” She spoke with great difficulty. It cost her a very visible effort to ask him. “Mr. Pitt, if you could . . .”
“I shall be discreet for as long as possible,” he promised. “But anything you remember may be of help.”
“Yes . . . of course. I wish I could think of something. Apart from the question of justice . . . I shall miss her. Good day, Mr. Pitt . . . Inspector.” She hesitated only an instant, forgetting Tellman’s name. But it was not of importance. She did not bother to wait for him to supply it, but sailed out of the room, leaving the maid to show them out.
Neither Pitt nor Tellman commented on leaving the Serracold house. Pitt could sense Tellman’s confusion and it matched his own. She was nothing that he could have foreseen in the wife of a man who was running for potentially one of the highest public offices in the country. She was eccentric, arrogant enough to be offensive, and yet there was an honesty about her he admired. Her views were naive, but they were idealistic, born of a desire for a tolerance she herself could not achieve.
Above all she was vulnerable, because there was something she had wanted from Maude Lamont so intensely that she had gone to her séances time after time, even though she was aware of the potential political cost if it became known. And her hair was long and pale silver-gold. He could not forget the hair on Maude’s sleeve, which might mean anything, or nothing.
“Find out more about how Maude Lamont acquires her clients,” he said to Tellman as they lengthened their pace down the footpath. “What does she charge? Is it the same for all clients? And does it account for her income?”
“Blackmail?” Tellman said with his disgust unconcealed. “It’s pathetic to be taken in by that . . . that nonsense. But plenty of people are! Is it worth paying to keep silent about?”
“That depends what she’s found out,” Pitt replied, stepping off the curb and dodging a pile of horse manure. “Most of us have something we’d prefer to keep private. It doesn’t have to be a crime, just an indiscretion, or a weakness we fear having exploited. No one likes to look a fool.”
Tellman stared straight ahead of him. “Anyone who goes to a woman who spits up egg white and says it’s a message from the spirit world, and believes it, is a fool,” he said with a viciousness that sprang from a pity he did not want to feel. “But I’ll find out everything about her that I can. Mostly I’d like to know how she did it!”
They stepped up onto the pavement at the far side of the street just as a four-wheeled growler passed by within a yard of them.
“Mixtures of mechanical trickery, sleight of hand, and power of suggestion, I should think,” Pitt answered, stopping at the curb to allow a coach and four to pass by. “I assume you know it was egg white from the autopsy?” he said a little caustically.